Mirrors Are Not To Be Trusted
by OrigamiPaperAngel
Summary: To Barbara Jones, it was another uneventful day filled with spring cleaning. The last thing she expected was to look over at the mirror and find that her reflection had button eyes. But it happened, and so Mrs. Jones met the Beldam. // Oneshot.


**Author's Note**: Wow, just like my other most-recent fanfic, this idea came to me totally from the air. The end was just finished a few minutes ago, and I think it may seem a little rushed, but I'm not good at deciding these kinds of things. But anyway, this turned out to be WAY longer than I had originally intended. It was just supposed to be a little drabble, but look at it now! I guess I was just having too much fun with it. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :-)

Mrs. Jones stared into the mirror, trying to analyze what she saw.

It wasn't herself that looked back at her, she knew for sure. After all, _her_ eyes weren't gleaming, night-black buttons.

Perhaps it was a strange deception of her mind and the light; this strange reflection that stared at her with blank, expressionless buttons.

Mrs. Jones stopped her sweeping and leaned her broom against the wallpaper. Almost in a trance, she walked to the mirror, and if she weren't a mother in her thirties who _knew _better, perhaps she would have thought that this mirror was the entrance to a wonderful winter land. The sudden change in temperature was remarkable; three feet away from the mirror her body temperature had been neutral – not too hot, not too cold, but somewhere in the middle – but now that she had actually walked up to it, close enough for a beast to reach over and snatch her away forever, the cold seeped into her skin and lingered onto her bones.

She shuddered, and she could have sworn that her reflection snickered.

Mrs. Jones straightened up and stared at this button-eyed creature. It didn't obediently imitate her when she placed her hands on her hips, as reflections are supposed to. But by now she had figured out that this was no ordinary reflection.

"Hello," she said, suddenly, and waited.

There was no response from the life form behind the mirror.

For no good reason, Mrs. Jones said to the button-eyed being, "My name is Mel Jones."

"I know." Said the creature in a low, raspy voice that reminded Mel of dead leaves blowing in the cold, midnight air. The voice didn't sound even remotely human. In fact, it sounded like the voice of a monster, which this being probably was.

"Who are you?" Mel questioned, boldly. She felt as though she was letting go of Mrs. Jones, letting go of the cynical housewife who stared at the computer screen all day and typed up boring garden catalogues, letting go of the little girl who would sneer and act all mature, putting down kids who believed in magic, telling them there's no such thing, god, aren't you old enough to know that by now?

And as she stared, she felt different. She felt more like the _real_ Mel, who acted stuck-up and important, but was really as interested in fantasy as all of her other classmates, if not more. She felt like the little girl who had opened up her mother's novel _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe _and had become entranced at the first sentence. Like the girl who had a clear mind and a good head on her shoulders when the adults were looking, but would stare at the clouds and dream of being a princess and having grand adventures when nobody else was around.

Perhaps this strange experience was opening up this part of her. This button-eyed woman had sparked her interest, and she felt as though she were reviving a long-lost part of herself as she conversed with this potential monster.

The creature's response only made Mel even more interested:

"I have no name."

Mel didn't know what to say. But even if she had thought of a response, the being would have cut her off, for it continued a few moments later: "If I have a name, I do not know it. It has been lost." Another pause. Longer this time. "They do, however, refer to me as something. They call me the Beldam."

"The Beldam," Mrs. Jones repeated, feeling the words on her tongue. She murmured to herself, "Why does that sound so familiar...?"

"La Belle Dame Sans Merci," the Beldam said, a smirk on her – or were they Mrs. Jones'? – red lips. "_The beautiful lady without pity. _It is a ballad. A very famous one. Have you read it?"

"Oh yes," answered Mel, perhaps a bit too quickly. "When I was younger I used to love ballads. Not only ballads – poems, too. I love old literature; well, I still do. It has a certain spark to it, I think."

"I know." Said the Beldam, sounding bored. Then she added, "And I agree."

"And, how _do _you know?" asked Mel. "Are you… a part of me? Since you look like me? And what do you mean by 'they'? People know of you? And why aren't your eyes hazel? Why are they... buttons?"

The Beldam frowned, and Mel wondered if she really looked _that_ unattractive when displeased. As Mel placed a finger to her forehead self-consciously, the button-eyed beast murmured, almost to herself, "So many questions. You are very different from your daughter in that way. I remember that she asked me nothing of my origins. She was so easy in that regard, my sweet little Coraline ... oh, but I'm getting off track. Let's see, what did you ask—?"

"Wait!" The Beldam's muttering, almost to herself, had only aroused _more_ questions from the mother. "You know my daughter?"

The Beldam's mouth became a straight line across her face, and her button eyes flashed. She said, flatly, "We are acquainted, yes."

Motherly instinct kicked in, and the mysterious, attracting aura this scene previously had was scrubbed away by Mel's suspicion and protectiveness. Mrs. Jones scowled and rolled up her right sleeve, growling, "I swear to god, if you've hurt her, you'll..."

"Good thing I _haven't_ hurt her, mentally or physically. _You_ still have the beautiful, adventurous, wonderful, youthful daughter you've always had." The Beldam put no effort into hiding the envy in her voice. Mel opened her mouth to respond, but again the creature continued: "And besides, even if I had, what would you do? What _could _you do? You can't even touch me!"

"Oh, I can't, can I?" Mel smirked and rolled up her left sleeve, now, leaning closer to the mirror. She lifted up her right hand – finally, the Beldam mimicked this action as a proper reflection should – and placed it on the glass. Next she lifted her left hand and pushed it against the cold surface of the mirror. The Beldam did the same.

Never did it cross her mind that this was a very dangerous thing to do. A few minutes ago, before she looked into the mirror by pure chance, Mrs. Jones had been ready to go back to her broom three feet away, ready to continue the spring-cleaning that this old house so desperately needed. But now, _Mel _had some things to straighten up with this, this _Beldam_.

The next thing Mel did was push her fingernails into the mirror, half hopeful to give some punishment, half wondering if her fingers would go through and wrap themselves around the Beldam's.

They did.

Mel's fingers had gone through the glass, easy as anything, as though the mirror was just an illusion and wasn't even there.

If the atmosphere around mirror was snow cold, then the Beldam's fingers were blocks of ice perfectly crafted into a replica of human hands. Not only were they inhumanly cold, but they were hard as stone.

Next Mel slowly broke their grip, and the raised her hand, ever so slightly, to touch the Beldam's eyes. This time, the creature hadn't mocked the gesture. It stood there, stiff and hard as a pole in a street in the middle of winter, and did absolutely nothing as Mel felt the smooth, hard black buttons.

Now that her curiosity had been satiated, Mel lowered her arm back out of the mirror, back to her own self, her own body, her _own _world. The Beldam lowered her arm as well. They stared at each other wordlessly like that for what felt like an hour was in reality had only been a fraction of a minute, some thirty-something seconds.

The next thing that she did she had been planning for a while now, and it came forth faster than the flicker of a flame.

Mel punched the Beldam. Bold as anything, she threw her arm into the mirror and grinded it against the monster's face. The body of the mirror inhabitant stood the same - still and tall with perfect posture, arms at the side - but the head was bent sideways at an unnatural position, and Mel couldn't see its face. When the Beldam finally twisted her face back, the right button eye seemed to throb and the same cheek now boasted a large, ping-pong-ball-sized crack.

"Stay away from Coraline," hissed Mel after she had quickly brought her hand back to her side. "And stay away from my husband and me. Never let me or either of them see you again, _Beldam_. Especially me, or by God, you'll be sorry. Stay away from us!"

"As you wish," the Beldam answered, stiffly. Her button eyes betrayed no emotion. She simply stared at the housewife, at the woman she had been reflecting, and just as quickly she faded away. Immediately Mel knew that she was looking in the mirror at _herself_, for her sockets no longer homed large black buttons but small hazel eyes with pupils inflated from their owner having stood in such a dark area of the house for so long.

And with that over and done, Mel Jones turned around and marched off, resuming her spring-cleaning. Only one thought rang through her mind, loud, clear and true:

_Coraline Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do!_


End file.
